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The queen died giving birth to a baby girl.
The newly-christened Zelda wailed as if she mourned her mother, refusing to be comforted by anyone. The wet nurse reported, worryingly, that the girl would not latch. Bottles were attempted, but the infant princess refused. King Gustus could not leave off running the kingdom, not even to grieve, not even to see his little girl. He hated it. Every noble’s condolences or congratulations grated against his anxiety. His daughter suffered, and he was not even allowed to see her. Gustus had to keep a strong face, could not show his fear publicly lest there be a panic. Lady Impa secretly brought reports all day, each grimmer than the last.
The sun set, and Gustus barely waited for the final supplicant to finish their farewells when he was out the door, half-running to the nursery. The silence was deafening as he approached, the guards grave-faced as he strode into the room.
The cradle was empty.
King Gustus spun to demand an explanation from the nursemaid, a confirmation of his fears. To his surprise, the figure sitting in the rocking chair was not a matronly woman, but a young man with raven-dark hair and skin like ice. He held the infant princess tenderly, quietly giggling as he tilted the bottle to allow her to finish the last dregs of the milk. “That’s a good girl… you were hungry weren’t you?”
“Who are—“
The man looked up, blue eyes making Gustus step back in shock as he looked into the face of his dead father. The copy slowly lifted a finger to its lips, indicating the baby as it lifted her to its shoulder to burp. The princess burbled, spitting milk onto the ghost as if it were any other nurse.
“How… how are you here?” The King’s voice shook. “You… you should be—“
“Dead? And miss this little princess’ big day?” The dark copy only grinned. “I was there for you. I’ll be here for her.”
Then, in a swish of air like a swooping shadow, Zelda was deposited in King Gustus’ arms, and the man was gone.
The King spent days researching the strange figure. He looked so much like Gustus’ father, a man that many had said was always a bit mad. The late Prince-Consort had been a hero, a childhood friend of Princess Zelda who fought demons and wielded strange magics to protect the kingdom. Gustus had grown up hearing stories of his exploits, of the hero with the strength of four men.
No one else saw the ghostly figure. The Princess seemed to recover all on her own, the milk feeding itself to her, the nappies changing on their own. Even Lady Impa, with her knowledge of the shadows, knew nothing about the apparition.
Gustus could only be relieved, that it seemed to be fond of the Princess.
When Zelda was three, monsters tried to break into the castle.
The guards were caught unawares, a swarm of Keese blinding them as five Moblins rushed across the drawbridge. The invaders rushed through, attacking any who got in their way, arrowing towards the playroom as if drawn by some terrible beacon. Lady Impa had fought off three, but the last two had reached the Princess, blithely playing with her blocks and paying the monsters no mind.
The reports of what happened next were confused, but one thing was certain. A shadow had risen from beneath the Princess’ feet and slain the monsters with a single swipe of its sword. Lady Impa swore it even remained long enough to help the Princess re-stack her blocks before fading away once more.
When Zelda was five, a visiting dignitary made her cry.
The man left the next morning with his whole retinue, apologizing and assuring that they would send a new trade agreement with more favorable terms in the mail, provided they never had to stay in the castle again. The dignitary expressed surprise—he had thought Hylians soft, yet if they dealt with that all the time and seemed unbothered, they were tougher than they seemed. Gustus was never told what “that” was, but he had a suspicion.
When Zelda was six, her favorite doll fell into the river on an outing to see the Zora.
Though both the river and sea Zora searched, they could not find the toy. The next morning it was sitting on Zelda’s bed, soaking wet and holding a golden ring. A note in shaky scrawl said the doll had been diving for pirate treasure and was sorry it had made Zelda worry. Gustus saw the shadows move away silently as the girl scolded her doll for frightening her.
The rift situation grew worse, people falling in and coming back changed. Voices stolen, vitality lost. Gustus was kept constantly busy arranging aid and marshaling research efforts. Wright and Lefte were perpetually running to a far corner of the kingdom, fighting monsters or trying to collect information. Gustus had to admit, he took some comfort in knowing that the strange creature haunting his daughter would look out for her in his absence. Zelda spoke fondly of her little shadow, even asking her father if the painting of her heroic grandfather was of her friend. The girl was enchanted by his stories of the Hero of Light, though she would occasionally correct him, as if someone else had told her the story from a different perspective.
When Zelda was twelve, a demon broke into the castle.
The room was ransacked, furniture flipped and curtains torn. Lady Impa had been knocked unconscious fighting the blue monster, but she reported it bore a terrible resemblance to the one slain by Gustus’ father. The beast had emerged from a rift directly into the girl’s room, trapping her in crystal before vanishing.
Gustus looked for any sign of the shadow, but the echo of his father was nowhere to be found.
—
Miles away, in the village of Suthorn, Link heard a frantic knocking on the door. He stood, making sure his sword was handy, and looked outside. The area around his cottage was empty.
Shaking his head, he turned to go back in. A piece of paper, folded neatly on his bed, caught his eye. Inside was a map, directing him to a temple in the woods outside of town. At the bottom, in a childish scrawl, were the words: “Save her.”
Link quickly fetched his cloak, tucking his bow into his shoulder and the bombs in a bag on his waist. He didn’t know how the note had arrived, but he wasn’t going to let anyone suffer from the rift if he could help it. He set off into the forest as fast as he could.
He didn’t notice how his feet now bore two shadows instead of one.
—
Zelda clutched the Tri Rod, peering into the gloomy room atop the stairs. Tri chimed softly, hovering at her shoulder. Zelda could see a shape in the distance, back turned.
“S-swordsman?”
The swordsman turned, eyes red as glowing embers, and drew his sword. She knew that face.
“… Shadow?”